A R I A N A

Just like my father had said, two days later I was getting married to Dante Russo. The morning of my wedding arrived like a death sentence.

I sat stiffly in front of the vanity as a team of stylists buzzed around me, transforming me into a perfect bride.

The white dress hugged my body tightly, the lace scratching my skin. The heavy veil weighed down my head like a crown of thorns.

I felt nothing.

Empty.

Dead inside.

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was a ...